Monday, October 15, 2012

My free-of-charge, guaranteed-victory locker room speech to the New York Yankees



Well, this time, we really stepped in it.

The writers are on us. The announcers are on us. Half the fans in America hate us, and the other half, the ones that love us - Jeez, they're on us, too.

A lot of people love to see the big bad Yankees collapse, because it validates everything they ever believed about New York City, about the East, and about players who make too much money and don't know their place.  They revel in every strikeout, every error, every runner we fail to score and every bullet we absorb. Believe it or not, there were Yankee haters out there who laughed when our captain was being helped off the field.

Our captain.  Yeah, Derek's not coming with us to Detroit. You know he'd give his kidney to be here, but it's not in the cards. There's only one way to get him back in the dugout before this season is over: We have to beat Detroit. That's how we give Derek Jeter - our shortstop, our friend, our captain - one last chance to be with this team.  GODDAMMIT, THERE IS NO OTHER WAY!

Some of you are still stinging from the boos. It's hard to block from your minds the words, the gestures and the sounds. They represent the raw frustration of fans who live and die for this team. They cannot help themselves. And trust me here: If we take Detroit in Detroit, the Tigers - those guys giggling in the dugout last night - will hear the same boos.  They will feel the same heat, feel the same pressure, feel the same way that you do.

Last night, we hit rock bottom and then drilled down. It's over. Today, it's time to remember who we are: The New York F--k--g Yankees. Throughout history, one element has always separated The New York F--k--g Yankees from every other team: We don't f--k--g quit. We don't f--k--g relent. We go all nine f--k--g innings, and when it's over, the f--k--g opposition knows it was in a f--k--g fight. The Tigers have not yet seen us f---k--g fight. It's time to show them who the f--k we are: The New York F--k--g Yankees.  Godammit, now get out there and win, or Jeter and Mariano will personally beat the f----k---g sh&t out of every last one you. You hear me? NOW DO IT.


Anonymous said...


Anonymous said...

You find out life's this game of inches, so is baseball. Because in either game - life or baseball - the margin for error is so small. I mean, one half a step too late or too early and you don't hit it make it. One half second too slow, too fast and you don't quite catch it. The inches we need are everywhere around us. They're in every break of the game, every minute, every second. On this team we fight for that inch. On this team we tear ourselves and everyone else around us to pieces for that inch. We claw with our fingernails for that inch. Because we know when add up all those inches, that's gonna make the fucking difference between winning and losing! Between living and dying! I'll tell you this, in any fight it's the guy whose willing to die whose gonna win that inch. And I know, if I'm gonna have any life anymore it's because I'm still willing to fight and die for that inch, because that's what living is, the six inches in front of your face. Now I can't make you do it. You've got to look at the guy next to you, look into his eyes. Now I think ya going to see a guy who will go that inch with you. Your gonna see a guy who will sacrifice himself for this team, because he knows when it comes down to it your gonna do the same for him. That's a team, gentlemen, and either, we heal, now, as a team, or we will die as individuals. That's baseball guys, that's all it is. Now, what are you gonna do?

Anonymous said...

We're in hell right now gentlemen. Believe me. And we can stay here, get the shit kicked out of us, or we can fight our way back into the light. We can climb outta hell... one inch at a time.

el duque said...